


Gemini Setting

by Lyrastar



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-06-01
Updated: 2003-06-01
Packaged: 2020-06-29 12:20:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19830103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyrastar/pseuds/Lyrastar
Summary: The Klingons and the Romulans both stand against our captain. How is he to know who will stand with him?





	Gemini Setting

A technician threw a switch and a blood-curdling scream cut the air. With precisely focused strength the naked Vulcan popped free of his restraints and launched himself towards the doorway. A disruptor flashed; in less than a heartbeat the Vulcan disappeared. The centurion holstered his sidearm and resumed his post.

In the middle of the laboratory three men in biosuits stood by the empty examination table staring at the spot where the subject had vanished.

“Another unsatisfactory result, Doctor.”

“Yes, unfortunate. And we grow pressed for time. Prepare another specimen, quickly.”

The two technicians stepped to the wall and activated one of the liquid containment chambers. Before their eyes an embryo formed, floating in the thick murk. It swelled and grew and uncurled into an infant, a boy, and then a youth. Long, dark hair swirled around pointed ears. Lines and angles began to transform the face to maturity.

“Now!” the doctor barked.

The technician hit a switch and electric discharges filled the chamber. With a hiss the fluid siphoned away leaving a form breathing limply on the chamber floor. The chamber unhinged and swung open. The technicians stepped in to pick up the body and placed it on the table.

The doctor said, “Use the fortizarium restraints this time.”

“Yes, Doctor.” They clamped the unresisting body to the table.

The doctor walked to the far corner of the room. In the shadows sat a woman in a heavy white robe. Rich black hair fell straight down around the points of her ears. She turned from her computer and spoke.

“The engram imprinting was complete; it was the incorporation that failed. It appears to be our neural matrix inset, not the donor engrams or the copy process itself that is the source of the problem.

“There are a number of differences between Vulcan and Romulan neurophysiology. For example, here.” She gestured at the screen. “The nucleus lealtiolus activity of the donor is exponentially higher than it would be in a Romulan brain. It may not be compatible with our inset. I believe that if we omit the engrams originating from that area, we may be attain better incorporation.”

“Can we do that, Maestra?” the doctor asked.

“I believe so. The Klingon mindstripper technology is most impressive. Although we cannot translate or extract information from such a disciplined mind, we should be able to select or omit any engrams we wish for simple transfer.”

“As you command, Maestra.”

She keyed a complicated sequence into the interface terminal. “Engrams ready to transfer.”

“Begin imprinting,” he ordered.

There was a hum. The body on the table began to shake with hard rigors. The hum reached a fever pitch then became a shill whine, painful to Romulan ears. Suddenly, it shut off. The subject on the table opened his eyes and gazed calmly around the room.

*****

_Captain’s log, stardate 5072.4:_

_With concern rising over the cloaking device and the_   
_newly-discovered Romulan-Klingon alliance, Commander Spock_   
_and I have been called to give formal deposition regarding the_   
_events leading to the Organian intervention and the subsequent shift_   
_in Federation/Klingon intercourse._

_First Officer Spock has been on educational leave on Andor prime._  
 _He has been recalled and the_ Enterprise _is now en route to rendezvous_  
 _with his shuttle so that we can complete these responsibilities and_  
 _resume ship’s business._

Oh, the joys of bureaucracy, thought Kirk to himself. The truth of the matter was that that even this small administrative distraction would be a welcome break in the ship’s daily routine. For more than three weeks the _Enterprise_ had been mapping endless time contours in the less frequented areas of Federation space. Every since the Organian treaty Kirk had felt less like a soldier and more like a stenographer. It was relief to hear Starfleet had finally got the message that the Klingon threat still loomed as real as ever.

And it would be good to have Spock back again, too.

Chekov’s voice broke through his reverie. “Shuttle Da Vinci positively identified, Sir. ETA to rendezvous: twenty minutes, fifty-eight seconds.”

“Thank you, Mr. Chekov,” Kirk said.

Behind the captain’s chair, McCoy bounced on his toes. “Neoclassical Andorian theoretical physics. Now why in the world would Spock want to attend something like that?”

Jim grinned. “You know Spock: interested in anything and everything. Besides, it beats the heck out of being stuck here for the past two weeks. I can’t remember the last time I was so bored. Off hand, I’d say he won. But I am looking forward to having him back.”

“No doubt,” McCoy commented dryly.

Kirk shot him a poisonous look.

McCoy continued, “What do you want, Jim? War? Starfleet was formed in the interest of pursuing galactic peace, and now we have it. An end to the fighting, the killing, the paranoia. The Organians have given us what we claim to have worked for all of our lives, and now you say you’re bored?”

Jim said, “I know. It’s just that it doesn’t feel right in here.” He thumped his gut. “This accord isn’t going to change the Klingon mentality any more than it’s changed ours. What they did to sabotage Sherman’s planet shows us that. They’re still bound and determined to wipe out the Federation one way or another. Open war I can understand, but what we have now—this poisoned truce—I don’t know what to make of it.

“And now the Klingons are in league with the Romulans, sharing military technology and who knows what else. I don’t think it’s going to be any better, Bones, just sneakier.”

McCoy prodded, “Fear of the unknown, Jim?”

Kirk said, “Now, Doctor, that doesn’t sound much like me, does it? I’m not afraid. This—artificial treaty is just not natural and I cannot believe it is the way we were meant to live.”

McCoy made a face. “Well, living in caves eating raw meat may be more natural than a cozy home on a climate controlled starbase, but I would hardly recommend it.”

Kirk grinned. “Point made, Doctor. And if nothing else, I do hope that you’re right. I don’t believe so, but I really do hope so.”

Kirk stood up abruptly and changed the subject “Come on, let’s go meet Spock.” He leapt up the step to the turbo lift with McCoy close at his heels.

*****

In the air lock, Kirk strummed the control panel impatiently. The bay pressure gauge seemed to be rising at a ridiculously slow rate. Jim smiled as it reached Vulcan norm and Spock stepped out of the shuttle hatch. Correct as always, Spock began his post-flight visual survey of _Da Vinci’_ s exterior.

The bay pressure equilibrated with _Enterprise_ norm and the hatch slid open with a bleep. Jim burst through the portal. “Spock!” he said, “Welcome back! Leave the post-flight check for the warp pool crew. I’ve missed you; I want to catch up.”

Spock raised an eyebrow, but continued around the starboard side making notations with his tricorder. “Captain. Dr. McCoy. While that does sound inviting, Captain, I have 13.283 days of ‘catching up’ to do myself, both on command responsibilities and science department status. I do believe that supersedes personal whims; and my commanding officer is most particular in such matters.”

“Yeah, he’s a real hardass,” McCoy agreed cheerfully.

Jim silenced him with a look.

Jim said, “Spock, it’s been two weeks. Don’t I at least get a kiss?”

Spock looked up. “13.284 days and, that is not standard procedure for reboarding.”

Jim gave McCoy a wry glance. “I could make that an order, Mr. Spock.”

“Indeed. And I would, of course, comply. However, I would be constrained to point out that that order would be construed as inappropriate by Starfleet Command and, should the existence of such an order be discovered by Command, the consequences to your career would not be negligible.” Spock snapped off his tricorder and secured it at his waist. He locked his wrists behind his back and waited for the inevitable repartee.

Jim laughed. “Okay, have it your way. But be in quarters by 23:00 tonight.”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “That, as humans say, Captain, is a deal.”

Jim gave him a quick hug and then, throwing one arm over McCoy’s shoulder, left Spock alone in the hangar bay.

*****

Jim was already naked and waiting when Spock came through the door to their cabin. He spread his arms invitingly and his eyes sparkled with life. “Now do I get a kiss?” he asked in his best faux-coy voice.

Spock raised one eyebrow and studied him to consider, or possibly just to appreciate the view. Then he closed the short distance between him and took Jim in his arms.

Their mouths pressed together with rapidly escalating urgency. The fabric of Spock’s shirt crushed and wrinkled between them. The fine nap scraped against Jim’s nipples sending an electric message down to his groin and back up again. Jim writhed against Spock’s chest, luxuriating in the feel of it. The hard clip of Spock’s trousers bit into the sensitive flesh of his belly refocusing Jim’s attention lower.

Jim’s penis shot up hard and needy. He ground it reflexively into Spock’s hip. The rough rub of fabric against skin was at once pleasure and torture. Either way it was too much to bear.

“Take this off,” Jim ordered huskily, pulling at the blue tunic.

“With pleasure, Captain,” responded Spock. Within seconds they were both naked on the bed.

From his position on his back, Jim moaned as the first drops leaked from his penis and on to his belly. He rocked his pelvis compulsively against Spock above him, straining to press as deeply into the bend of Spock’s thigh as humanly possible. He inhaled deeply and filled himself with the exotic scent of his man and his head spun dizzily around. His world narrowed to the feel of his penis in the hot folds of Spock’s body but still it wasn’t enough.

Jim reached for the lube. Hurriedly he smoothed his penis in the cool gel and rolled over and on top. “I’m sorry,” he panted, “I can’t wait any longer. I need you too much.” He thrust once between the muscular cheeks, but stopped, surprised, when he met hard resistance at the sphincter.

Spock gasped. Reflexively his backside closed in about itself.

Jim groaned in frustration. His penis hummed and thrilled, bloated with blood. The need for release strained painful and urgent. “What’s the matter? It’s only been two weeks.” Trembling, he reached for more the lube and applied a generous dollop to Spock’s anus. It twitched and winked, shrinking down in response to his touch.

“13.635 days,” Spock corrected, a little breathless.

“Whatever!” Jim growled. Constraining his finger to work at Spock’s pace, with a gossamer touch he soothed and coaxed the guardian muscle to bend to the form of his desire. As he felt Spock slowly open beneath his touch, the extent of his own need resurged at once hot and fierce.

Desperate with desire Jim took himself in his other hand and began to stroke the lube along the length of his shaft until a warning ooze began at the tip. He grabbed the base in his iron grip and held for long seconds until it hurt. For Spock, he would wait. When the pleasure had receded to a bearable level, he inserted a finger into Spock’s anus and began to move. “It’s just like riding a bicycle. It all comes back if you’ll just relax.”

“I am endeavoring to do so.” Spock’s words came tight and choked. He clenched and unclenched his fists methodically, worrying at the sheet with both hands. Every line of his body rippled with a terrible tension hot for release. The skin around his anus quivered with tiny fasciculations.

But then the clench around Jim’s finger abated just a little. As he moved now, a sensuous sucking click followed each withdrawal. The raw eroticism of that sound did something unprecedented to Jim’s stomach. He lay his cheek down on the exquisite skin of Spock’s ass to better feel the contractions. Spock’s body tightened with each withdrawal, as if decrying the loss, as if urging him back inside. With each twitch, each jerk, his own penis jumped in sympathy until it was no longer enough for either of them.

Jim inserted a second finger. The muscle spasmed at first, then welcomed him willingly. Spock made an inhuman sound and thrust his ass high against Jim’s hand. Hot and needy, Jim ground his groin against the back of Spock’s leg. He reached Spock’s ready prostate and an unexpected growl escaped Spock’s throat. Overcome, Jim could take no more. He shifted expertly and with one hard lunge, buried his penis fully within Spock’s heat.

“Oh, yes!” he gasped. “You feel so tight! You’re…incredible!” Jim thrust once, twice, three times, four—and then it was over.

Shaking, Jim rolled off and onto his back. He reached out an arm and pulled Spock in against him. A weak laugh built up from his belly.

“Oh, god, what just happened? Teenagers do that. Spock, I’m so sorry. You all right?”

Spock’s voice was thicker than usual. “I am well, Jim, but I cannot answer your question as to what occurred. I, too, found the experience more intense than I had remembered but I cannot tell you why.”

Jim chuckled. “Maybe absence does make the heart grow fonder.”

“Heart, Jim? I do not believe that is the part of the anatomy that is most pertinent to this discussion.”

Jim rolled over on to Spock’s stomach. “Well, let’s see if I can’t find a more pertinent part.” He reached for Spock’s turgid penis, but Spock stayed his hand.

Jim laughed playfully. “Spock, what are you doing?”

Spock took Jim’s hand in his and, spreading the fingers, delicately explored each digit, as if experiencing it for the first time. He stroked up then down, memorizing each fold. Coming down to the palm, he moved in sensuous circles, stimulating each nerve, every possible point. Jim sighed in contentment. Spock shifted his head slightly to observe Jim’s face.

Jim sucked in his breath. Every place that Spock touched seemed to leap with an internal energy raising him to a height of sensual awareness he hadn’t felt in months. The feeling of connection to his t’hy’la was so real it was almost palpable. After a moment he could no longer tell whose hand moved over whose. Entranced, Jim closed his eyes and concentrated on following the intoxicating trail of electricity that crackled wherever Spock’s hand touched his.

“Mm, that feels good,” murmured Jim. Spock moved to the back of Jim’s hand and gently brushed over the fine blond hairs that covered the skin. Impatient, Jim pushed his hand against Spock’s palm and moved in against the warmth.

Spock curled his fingers and rhythmically began to massage the fingers and palm. He felt Jim’s muscles relax and melt into his touch. He raised their hands to his mouth and gently, reverently kissed the tips.

Jim opened his eyes to find Spock studying him as though he had never seen him before. The tenderness in the gaze was almost too much to behold. With his other had Jim reached up and stroked Spock’s hair tenderly. “I love you,” he said easily.

Spock gripped Jim’s hand hard enough to hurt. He locked his fingers around Jim’s as if he might never let go. His face was full of nascent awe. “This feeling is so beautiful. You are so beautiful. How can this be for me?” Spock wondered aloud. He squeezed the pink fingers compulsively; his nails dug into the pulsatile flesh.

“Spock,” Jim asked, a little confused, “are you okay?”

“Quite all right, Jim.” Spock seemed almost mesmerized as he slaked his grip and moved his hand up to Jim’s wrist, his shoulder, and finally, to his face.

Jim gasped as Spock’s mind engulfed him in a way it had not done since their first few frantic weeks together. He had only a moment to thrill at the splendor of their union before the psionic shock pulled him down into oblivion.

An unknown time later, Jim awoke with Spock’s arms wrapped tightly around him. “Mm, that was wonderful. We should do that more often.” He bent his neck to kiss Spock’s wrist, then shrugged himself free and shifted to spoon around his husband from behind. Languidly he fingered Spock’s back. “What happened to your scar? I don’t see it,” he said sleepily. He ran his fingers over the area that borne the brunt of the Klingon-supplied flintlock blast less than a year before.

“If you can no longer see it, it is logical to assume that it has healed,” Spock replied levelly.

“It’s not just healed, it’s healed completely. It’s amazing. You didn’t have McCoy fibrolyize it?”

“No. While I might trust the doctor to remove a splinter or to apply a bandage, elective cosmetic procedures I would prefer to leave to nature.”

“Well, you sure have been anxious enough for me to have this one removed.” Jim fingered the fine line that ran the width of his chest, just under his nipples.

Spock turned his head to see where Jim pointed. When he saw, he stiffened noticeably. “That is somewhat different. That scar holds painful memories.”

“I’ll say,” Jim said wryly. “But I like it. It’s a reminder to me of how far we’ve come, and not to take anything for granted.” He yawned and kissed Spock tenderly on the back. “I do love you, you know.”

“And I you, Jim.”

“Don’t worry,” Jim yawned, “your secret is safe with me.” He settled Spock’s body securely within his arms and in less than minute Jim was fast asleep.

*****

_Captain’s log, stardate 5073.0:_   
_We are convening a deep-space court for the purposes of obtaining_   
_depositions from parties involved in recent contacts with the_   
_Organians, the Romulans and the Klingons. Subspace relays_   
_are functioning well, and we hope to be done in less than eight hours._

Kirk snapped of the log recorder and turned on the official court recorder. “Uhura, do we have the JAG office on comm?”

“Affirmative, Sir.” She twisted a dial and the table monitors came to life with three highly decorated officers seated behind the bench.

Kirk stood stiffly. “Vice-Admiral Ng, Commodore Chen, Commodore Connolly. Good day, Sirs.”

“And good day to you, Captain Kirk. Are you ready to commence?”

“Yes, Sir,” Kirk said.

“We call Commander Spock first.”

Spock stood and inserted his identicard into the computer. He sat in the witness seat with his right hand upon the scanner.

There was a raucous alarum and the computer began to squawk. “Identity mismatch. Identity mismatch.” Kirk silenced it with the push of a button.

“Computer,” Kirk ordered, “play identicard information.”

“Spock. Serial number: S179-276SP. Rank: Commander. Position: First Officer; Science Officer, USS _Enterprise_. Commendations: Vulc—”

“Stop,” Kirk ordered. “Computer, identify being on the witness stand.”

“Palmar dermal topography does not match any in Federation database,” the computer said.

Spock’s eyebrows shot up.

“Computer, do you have a palmar dermal topography referent for Commander Spock?”

“Affirmative.”

“And how does it compare to the palmar topography on the interface.”

“Maximum one point of correlation. Identity mismatch 99.99% certain.”

Spock’s eyebrows rose to their limit.

“Captain—” a voice from the screen began.

Kirk overrode it. He licked his lips. “Computer, assess all biological fields and compare to those of Commander Spock.”

“Working. Mass, density, contours, basal temperature, salinity, cupricity, heart rate and pulse pattern all match to within a 1% margin of error. Dermal topography, vocal resonance, and basal electromagnetic pattern mismatch above 99.999% certain.”

Spock spoke for the first time. “Fascinating. Captain Kirk, if I may, there is only one conclusion possible from these facts: I am not Spock.”

Kirk stared at him nonplussed.

McCoy’s tricorder was already whirring furiously.

Jim struggled for words. “What do you mean, you are not Spock? Explain.”

Spock sat impassive. “I regret that I can give you no further information, Captain Kirk, for I have none myself. But I can tell you that the only logical explanation for these facts is that this body is a clone of your Commander Spock and that I am not the echt Spock.”

“Kirk, what is going on out there?” Connolly’s voice thundered over the intercom.

“I don’t know yet myself, but obviously it is not appropriate to proceed with the depositions at this time. _Enterprise_ out.” Kirk motioned to Uhura to cut the channel.

“Was that wise, Captain?” Scotty questioned. “They’ll be wanting to know more about this, sure enough.”

“Not anywhere near as much as I want to know,” Kirk snapped. He turned back to Spock.

He marched paced to the chair and stood nose to nose with Spock. His posture was relaxed and easy, but his eyes locked and held Spock’s with the sharp glint of polished duranium. When he spoke next his voice was soft and silky, utterly controlled and as dangerous as anyone in the room had ever heard. “Where is my First Officer, and who the hell are you?”

“Unknown,” Spock replied.

Eyes blazing, Kirk paced the length of the room in short, tightly controlled bursts. “You don’t know?”

“Negative. To the best of my knowledge I am Commander Spock.”

“Bones?” Kirk asked.

“Like he says, Jim, he appears to be a clone. The DNA matches exactly, but none of the trace elements that should be present from Spock’s recent landings are there. Microvascularization pattern and specific sensory neural net pathways all different too.”

“Brain waves?” Jim asked.

“Nearly identical to Spock’s last scan. It’s a clone with all his knowledge and memories—a damned good copy.”

Jim turned to the clone. “Well, if you are a clone, you must have been replaced recently. Bones?”

McCoy punched up data in the tricorder. “I did a complete examination on everyone who beamed up from Triacus. Spock was still Spock then. “

“The Andor conference!” Kirk exclaimed.

“Highly likely, Captain. I have full memories of leaving the _Enterprise_ and piloting as far as the Lokinian system. After that I have factual constructs of Andor and certain constructs of physics theorems, but nothing more tangible. I believe these may be artificially inserted memories. In fact, I begin to suspect that this body and consciousness has never been to Andor at all.”

“And what is your next reliable memory?”

“Resuming shuttle control from automatic pilot on the return voyage. Interesting in itself as I would not ordinarily use autopilot for such a short flight.”

“So…Spock was abducted from the shuttle two weeks ago and you were sent back in his place?”

“Uncertain, but the most probable theory at this time.”

The door opened with a whoosh. Kirk turned around. Four red-shirted security guards sprung through the door. “Reporting as Mr. Scott ordered, Sir.”

Kirk glanced at Scotty. “It seemed like a reasonable precaution, Sir,” Scotty said, sounding a little apologetic. “After all, we dinnae really know anything about this…gentleman.”

“I must concur with Mr. Scott,” said Spock evenly. “I am here subsequent to what must be considered an act of aggression by a force or forces unknown. I must be presumed to be dangerous and a clear and immediate threat to the interests of the _Enterprise_ and the Federation.”

“ _Is_ that why you are here?” Kirk stressed.

“Unknown,” Spock repeated. “My only conscious motivation is to serve you. Nonetheless, it is theoretically possible to impress engramatic programming onto a cloned brain below the level of awareness. It is quite conceivable.”

Kirk gave him an unfathomable look then he made up his mind. “You’ve already had the run of this ship. There is no more potential for damage now than there already has been. What you are is the best link I have to my First Officer, and you won’t be of much use to us in the brig. I intend to bring my officer home and you are going to help me.

“Bones, Scotty, Spock: you’re with me. The rest of you: dismissed.” Kirk strode out of the makeshift court with the other three hurrying afterward.

They reconvened in sickbay. Without being asked, Spock lay down on a biobed. McCoy began the scans.

“What else can you tell me, Bones?”

“Well, for starters, he’s right about the switch. The synthoglobin saturation curve shows he’s only been exposed to our breathing mix for less than forty-eight hours.” The scanner continued to whir.

McCoy looked up sharply. “Jim! Prior to that he was breathing Romulan air!”

“Romulan? Are you sure? Romulus is over thirty light years away.”

McCoy shot him a dry glance. He said irritably, “I didn’t say ‘air from Romulus’, I said ‘Romulan air’. Just as we use a standard blend in biospheres and in spaceships, I am sure that the Romulans do too.”

“Aye, that would fit,” said Scotty. “Those paranoid Romulan blaggarts would nae think about dermal patterns or voice prints. All their identification is by genotype testing; it’s supposed ta be foolproof.” He snorted, “The more ya over-think the plumbing—”

McCoy continued. “And this may help. There are sky-high tissue levels of cis-2-digilonium.”

“Interesting,” Spock agreed. “Captain Kirk, that is a rare element indigenous to only a few hundred planets. I suspect that by cross-referencing that with the presence or absence of other trace elements, and the planets within the area accessible within the time-frame, it will be possible to narrow down the planet of my origin.”

“Good,” Kirk said. “Bones, get Spock a list.”

“Captain—” Spock began.

“Jim—” McCoy started simultaneously. They stared at each other.

Spock took over. “Captain Kirk, in the first place, I must again remind you that I am not Spock.”

“Well, I have to call you something.”

Spock almost shrugged. “Very well. I will not quibble over that. However, the more important issue is that I am not a Starfleet officer. I am not a Federation citizen. My motivations are highly suspect and I should not be assigned such a project.”

Jim grabbed him by the shoulders. “My crew is under attack by Romulan stealth techniques. My First Officer, my right hand, has gone missing and I will use every resource in my power to get him back and protect my crew. Is it your intention to help me or not?”

Spock remained impassive. “Captain Kirk, as I have already stated, it is my conscious intention to serve you in any manner that might be within my capacity. That does not alter the fact that I do not know myself or that I may have implanted motivations that may prove to be to your detriment. And you must also consider that I may be lying”

Kirk shook his head firmly. “If you are a clone then your motivations are not suspect to me. For no clone of Spock could be anything less than he. You are with us?”

“Always, Captain.”

“Good, then it’s settled. When you—”

Spock interrupted. “Then, I request that Dr. McCoy provide the same information to Mr. Chekov for an independent confirmation.”

“Hedging your bets, Spock?” McCoy asked sagely. “Just in case you aren’t really you?”

Spock raised his eyebrows and rolled his eyes in a way that was all-too familiar to everyone present. “The illogic of that question defies quantification, Doctor. I am, however, offering the captain the best advice that I can.”

“I take it back,” McCoy said wryly. “That’s Spock.”

Jim nodded. “And he’s right again. Dr. McCoy, you have your orders. Mr. Spock, report to me when you’re done; I’ll be in our quarters. Scotty, use what we know of Romulan drive systems, compute maximum range of source base, then start working on hooking that cloaking device back up. When we find them, we don’t want them to see us coming.”

“Aye, Sir,” Scotty hesitated. “You realize, of course, it could be a ship and not a planet at all.”

“Unlikely,” Spock said. Cis-2-digilonium is a rare core element that is too unstable for export. It has a high affinity for cuprous or nickel based hemoglobins, but that is all. I doubt that sufficient levels could be found off of a source planet.”

Jim looked to McCoy. McCoy shrugged. Cloned or not, there was no arguing science with Spock.

“We’ll deal with possibility if and when we have to. Gentlemen, you have your orders, get to it. I want my First Officer back!”

Scotty turned right out of Sickbay. Kirk and Spock turned left. Out of long years of habit, they reached the turbolift at the same time.

“Deck 3, geology,” Spock said. He waited for the captain to speak.

“I’ll ride with you,” Jim said. Spock grabbed the handle.

Jim turned his back to the door and stood to face the clone. “So,” he said, his voice held carefully light, “whom did I make love with, and who was that in my mind last night?”

Spock replied levelly, “I have no answer for that, beyond what you already know. My only sense of identity is that of Spock cha’ Sarek.”

“And what did you take from my mind while you were there?”

Spock shook his head infinitesimally. “Captain Kirk, I deeply regret the personal invasion. At the time I was unaware that I had no right to your body or mind. However, I assure you that my only motivation was to feel the beauty of your soul to the full extent of my capacity. As I am aware of being nothing but Spock, I cannot help but love you as he does.”

Kirk held his face perfectly still. “I want to believe you, but you, but Spock hasn’t made love to me like that almost since we met. And I can’t remember a thing about the meld. It raises…questions.”

The turbolift changed directions.

Spock’s face took on a far-away look. “Captain Kirk, while I have presumably all of Commander Spock’s memories, there is a certain…visceral experience to a loving union of body or mind that I am not convinced can be replicated. You must remember that in one sense, that was the first time this body had experienced such a union. And you are…a most captivating individual. Even under the most mundane circumstances, you have always stretched my control to the breaking point and oftentimes beyond.” At that, Spock inclined his eyebrows ruefully.

As always, Jim wavered at that look. His eyes glimmered and his face shifted revealing more than a little pain. The naked vulnerability was unmistakable. “I just don’t know what to think.”

“Understandable.” Spock dropped his hand from the control arm and raised his palm in the air. “I offer you the chance to touch my mind and verify, as far as you are able, the identity of this consciousness.”

“And have you enter my mind again?” Kirk clipped. The idea was almost intolerable; the idea of passing up the chance to know was worse.

Spock said, “Yes. But as you are aware, I have had you at my mercy already. I submit that I could know you no better than I already have. Of course, the choice remains yours.”

Kirk stepped before the Vulcan and tipped his chin. His face was calm and clear, utterly devoid of fear. “Do it,” he said.

Spock pressed his fingers to Kirk’s head. Kirk braced himself, but this time there was no shock, no jolt. He entered Spock’s mind, prepared to face the worst, but instead he found only the austere familiarity of the man he had loved for so long.

‘Spock!’ he called through the meld. He thrilled to hear the cool response roll leisurely over his mind. The relief was so great it was in effect a physical thing. A great weight lifted from his middle; the roiling furor in his stomach finally calmed at last. Whatever hidden menace lay in wait in this body, whatever it was that made Spock a unique individual was here as well. They would face whatever was to come together, surely an unbeatable combination.

He supposed that he should feel some great metaphysical horror at the duplication, the violation of Spock’s identity, but there wasn’t time. Right now all he could feel was the certain reassurance of Spock’s presence and the immensity of this man’s devotion. He pulled away before the drive of the starship captain could fall victim to the yearnings of the man.

Spock grabbed the handle. The lift lunched once and the door opened into the geology passageway.

Kirk rallied. He steadied himself and pulled a small smile together somehow. “All right, I believe you. Now, get to work.”

*****

When the door buzzed, Jim was sitting behind the desk staring intently into nothing. Behind his eyes played out the vision of the last the last moments he had had with his Spock. Not that there was much to it. The daily drone of the mundane mission had left him with too much nothing to do and he had been plugging away at quarterly reports when Spock came in to pick up his valise. Neither of them had thought much of the separation. One on a mapping mission and the other at an academic conference—surely as safe as life in space could ever be.

Jim remembered every movement he had made, every word he had wasted on the computer, every moment he had looked down instead of over depriving himself of another precious memory. He remembered Spock steeping up before the desk, the formal Vulcan farewell salute followed in sharp contrast to the casual nod. The intimate look that no one else would dare describe as a smile. He remembered the final thud of the hatchway closing behind him and he remembered how Spock’s scent had lingered in the room, in his pillow for days.

But try as he might, he could not remember if they had said goodbye.

The buzz jolted him in the pit of his stomach. “Come.”

Spock entered. “Captain Kirk, I have extrapolated the possible planets of origin down to seven. Mr. Chekov’s analysis concurs with mine thus far. Furthermore, I have also considered other variables such as the availability of a power supply and infrastructure to support a cloning operation, natural planetary conditions most compatible with extended Romulan occupation, known distribution pattern of Romulan supply routes—”

“Spock, Spock, Spock,” Jim interrupted. “Are you saying you’ve found the base?”

“It is 83.28% probable that I was sent from Drepalgus II.”

Kirk hit a switch. “Bridge, navigation”

“Navigation. Leslie here.”

“Mr. Leslie, set course for Drepalgus II, maximum warp.”

“Course computed. Laying it in. ETA 10.4 hours at warp 7.8.”

“I see. Very good Mr. Leslie. Kirk out.”

Kirk smiled. “Okay, Spock, it looks like we’re in this together; let’s go bring him home.”

“Captain Kirk, I am constrained to point out—”

The words hit him like a gut-punch. “Jim. Please, call me Jim.” Kirk gestured helplessly. “I can’t stand hearing you speak to me like a stranger.”

Spock’s face took on a subtle look of consternation. “Captain, this is my point exactly. Despite the imprinting of Spock’s consciousness upon my brain, I am not your husband. I am not your First Officer. I am, in very real terms, a stranger to you and I am concerned that your persistence in minimizing that fact may seriously jeopardize your command decisions. I am here due to a hostile influence and I may well, albeit unknowingly, be acting in that party’s interest. I may be leading you into a trap.”

Jim smiled tiredly. “In that case, you’re leading me to Spock’s captors and, in that case, I will have them right where they want me.”

The furrow in Spock’s forehead deepened. “Captain, has it occurred to you that I may be leading you away from Spock and that by the time you discover that fact he will be dead?”

Jim clipped, “If they wanted him dead, they could kill him any time.” He paced around the desk to stand alarmingly close to the Vulcan. “Is that what happened? Is he dead?”

Spock shook his head. “Unknown. However—”

“However what?” Jim pushed.

Spock continued patiently. “However I must point out that the probability of your First Officer’s continued existence is not high. Considering the minimal amount of replicative fading that would occur in a first generation clone, it would be far more practical to keep the first cloned body as a donor. That mind could be left vacant, or could be imprinted with Romulan engrams for more pliability.

“Attempting to keep Commander Spock himself would be fraught with danger. He would, as I myself would, at bare minimum dedicate himself to escape, and, if at all possible, to the dismantling of their entire operation. The logical course of action would be to terminate him after the first clone was successfully produced.”

In a sudden burst, Jim stood up and pushed away from the desk. He faced the wall, his body hard and tense. His lungs ceased to function and for a moment he knew his heart had stopped. The world went dim and blood rushed ominously to his ears. No! He would not do this now. Too many other lives still hung in the balance. The captain can’t afford that luxury. There would be time enough for grief to come. So many long lonely years of grief aplenty. But now was the time for the living.

“Probability of finding him alive?”

“Approximately 478:1. The Romulans, while disparate from Vulcans by way of their disregard for the sanctity of life, are nonetheless a highly logical race.”

The Vulcan watched intently as Jim paced the width of the room. “So, you think, in addition to the production facility, we will find another clone of Spock?”

“Another clone or clones. Has it not occurred to you that if they can make one or two copies, they can make however many they choose?”

Jim started. It clearly had not occurred. He rubbed his temple and threw himself down on the bed. He draped one arm over his weary eyes.

“I should have been able to tell,” Jim murmured. It was too soft for human ears to discern, but not Vulcan ones.

“Illogical. I see no reason you should have been aware any earlier.”

Jim snorted. “That’s just it. There isn’t any. Not the way things are now, of course not.

“But you asked… Spock asked me to bond with him once. I said no. I was afraid of losing my independence, afraid of losing my freedom. ‘For want of a nail…’” Jim gave a bitter laugh. “If I had just trusted him then, I would have known that that wasn’t him yesterday. I would know whether he is alive or dead now.”

Spock shook his head. “Possible, but those additional few hours would change nothing. I still submit that your recriminations are illogical.”

Jim sat bolt upright and thumped his fist into the pillow. His voice was strained and his pupils narrowed to pinpoints. “My recriminations? Spock, you’re missing the big picture! I should have bonded with you! He could be dead and now we will never…” The name and pronouns all jumbled together in his mind and on his tongue. His hand was shaking. He clenched the pillow to still it, but the quiver in his chest continued unabated.

Spock took a step toward him and locked his wrists behind his back. He hesitated for only a moment, then perched next to Jim on the edge of the bed. “I do remember that conversation, Captain. And I recall that Spock agreed with your assessment of the risks to your persona. I remember that he stated his desires and made you an open offer for any time in the future, should circumstances become different.

“And as urgently as I must insist that you remember that I am a device of the enemy, nonetheless, I am able to—to feel nothing, except that I am Spock. And as such, I do know that Spock loves you absolutely and that, bonded or not, his sense of your union was one of completion. He had no regrets.

“And as for who you were with last night, I would answer that you were with one who loves you—one who bears the essence of your husband within himself.”

Jim’s face relaxed just a little as something inside of him gave way as well. He reached over to where Spock’s hands rested on his thighs. He took one and squeezed it once. “Thank you,” Jim said with resonant sincerity. And then he let go.

With finality he slammed the door on thoughts of that which he could no longer change and moved on to the possible. He sprang up and paced restively, once more the consummate captain. “So why are you here. If you have no ulterior motive, why put you here? Why clone Starfleet officers and, particularly, why you?”

Spock shook his head. “The possibilities are endless. However, the most likely scenario is that this is a beta trial. As we have evidence that the perpetrators are Romulan, it would be easiest for them to work with vulcanoid DNA. I may have been a victim of convenience by way of my flight path. Or, it may be a form of retaliation for our part in obtaining the cloaking device.”

“Retaliation, or other feelings of an influential individual in the Empire?” Jim wondered, a certain Romulan Commander bright in his mind. If she had wanted her revenge, she had gotten it in spades.

“Possibly,” Spock said flatly. “Or…” he stopped.

“Or?”

“Or, it is possible that I was selected due to our known rapport. If even you could not detect the substitution, they have a viable plan.”

Jim rubbed his head ruefully. Too many possibilities and too little time. “Spock, you were there. Isn’t it possible that more information is buried within you somewhere?”

“It is a virtual certainty, Captain, but as to whether my mind can access it, that is another matter. Surely Dr. McCoy has informed you that the psychoscanner will not be effective on me?”

“Yes, of course, but aren’t there Vulcan techniques?”

“Most would require another Vulcan, Captain.”

Jim sighed. “Most?”

“I can induce a deep meditative state which may allow me to recall subconscious details of the time before my sentience. But I must remind you that you would again be relying solely upon my unverifiable subjective report, and I am no longer a trustworthy source.”

Jim grinned. “I’ll be the judge of that. Do it.”

“Very well.” Spock hesitated. “I would prefer privacy, Captain.”

Jim stood up. “Of course. I’ll just—”

“No. I would find this environment…not conducive to meditation. I will go.”

Jim nodded. “All right. We have ten hours to formulate an extraction plan. Anything you can tell me about the compound would help. Report back to me when you have something.”

“Of course, Captain.” Spock left him alone in their cabin.

*****

Hours later the comm panel buzzed. Kirk lurched awake, a cold sweat wringing from his shirt. His sleep had been fitful, riddled with faceless visions and toneless voices that made the interruption more of a blessing. He swept the remnants firmly from his mind and slapped the comm panel. “Kirk here.”

“Mr. Scott here, Captain. Cloaking device operational. It should hold for the duration, but trying to use using weapons, shields or the transporter will decloak us for sure.”

“Scotty, we need the transporter to get Spock out.”

“Aye, I know that Captain, but Mr. Spock and I have both been over it six ways from Sunday. There is just no way. The best we can do is a fourteen second window to transport and recloak.”

“Spock?” Kirk said, startled. He glanced at the chronometer. He had been asleep for over four hours.

“Well, the…er, gentleman, who is here in Mr. Spock’s place,” Scotty tried awkwardly.

Kirk cringed. “Yes. But he was in Engineering with you?”

“Aye, Sir, he left just a few minutes ago. I asked for his help. This bloody alien contraption is cross-wired fifty ways from Sunday and no one is better at figuring foreign contraptions than Mr. Spock. I thought he might be of help and he was.” Scotty paused. “After what you said in sickbay, Sir, I thought that would be all right. Did I…do the wrong thing?”

Trust good ol’ Scotty, Kirk thought with a wistfully. “No. No, of course not. I was just…surprised.” He cleared his throat. “What options did you find?”

“We triple checked; fourteen seconds is the best we can do.”

“It will take at least four to raise the shields. We’d be a sitting duck.”

“I’m sorry Captain, but I cannae change the laws of physics.”

“I know, Scotty. And good work. Kirk out.”

Jim rolled off the bed and went to find Spock.

*****

He headed for the First Officer’s quarters which Spock still used occasionally, but the firepot was as cold and dark as the rest of the cabin. Jim called the bridge.

“Navigation. Chekov here.”

“Mr. Chekov, do you know where Mr. Spock is?”

There was a pause. “Mr. Spock? Vich one, Sir?” Chekov asked cautiously.

“The clone onboard,” Kirk barked irritably.

The next reply came crisply. “No, Sir. I left him about four hours ago in stellar cartography.”

“Well, have the computer scan for his bioreadings and tell me where he is,” Kirk said.

Another pause. “Deck 7. Guest cabin 56-F22.”

“Thank you. Kirk out.”

Puzzled, Kirk ordered the turbolift to Deck 7.

He entered the cabin to find Spock lying in near darkness in the impersonal surroundings. Jim strained as the door slid shut behind him. “Lights, one-quarter.” The lights brightened. Spock blinked and sat up.

“Captain?”

“I asked you to report back.”

“When I had something to offer. I do not. I have been unable to access any relevant information.”

Kirk rubbed his eyes. “Well, we’ll figure it out when we get there. Why don’t you come to bed? You look tired.”

Spock gestured shortly at the bunk. “That was my intention here, Captain.”

Kirk gave him an odd look. “I meant with me.” The hurt gathered in his chest; he didn’t try to keep it from his face. Not here. Not now.

Spock shook his head. “That is not my place.”

Jim sat down beside him. With a distant horror Jim realized that somehow the tectonics between them had shifted with neither his knowledge nor permission. In every way that mattered, this man was Spock. At the sound of the pain locked within that carefully emotionless voice, the last of something cold and hard melted deep within Jim’s chest. He slid closer on the bed and turned until their faces all but touched. “Not your place, hm?”

“It is his.”

“And what would you say your place is?” Jim asked, curious.

Spock shook his head. “I am an illegally created construct. The most appropriate facility would be an intensive rehabilitation facility, or, alternatively, an academic study laboratory.”

Jim jumped as an anger he had not even recognized within himself burst out from nowhere and onto the surface “Don’t quote legalities to me! How can you talk like that about your life? Whatever your origin, you are now a free and sentient being and every bit as valuable to me as my First Officer and I will not allow anyone, including you, to treat you otherwise.”

Like pulling a plug, the anger drained away as abruptly as it had come. Jim shook, depleted, and centered his thoughts. “Spock, you said that you can cannot help but feel as Spock does.” He placed one hand on Spock’s thigh and left his face naked and vulnerable. “Don’t you want to stay with me?” It had the form a question, but the raw energy that crackled between them made it clear that both knew the answer on that most basic of levels.

Spock said, “Captain, very often what one wants bears little relationship to what one may have.”

Jim took his hand and held his eyes. “Yes, I know. I want my husband back. I may get him, I may not; I don’t know. And I must keep that guilt and pain and fear at bay so I can do my job. But if he is still alive, I will get him back, I swear it. The only question is how I will get through the next six hours.” And then the next sixty years, Jim did not say aloud.

Jim said, “Ordinarily I would go to Spock. I would look to his strength, his reserve and I would lean on that. But tonight I can’t, you see? The perpetual irony is that I always have, always will need him most in his absence.

“But this time I have with me a man who has his mind, his memories, character and his inner light. All larger questions aside, that is enough for me, certainly for tonight if nothing else. And, I do believe, beyond.

“Spock, I am asking you…I am on the verge of pleading with you to please, stay with me tonight.”

Spock said, “No.”

Jim’s face clouded. His heart fell with a sickening thud.

Spock continued. “You need not plead. For whatever role I am to play in this existence, it must surely include doing my utmost to fulfill your requests. I cannot do otherwise, as he could not do otherwise.”

At that Jim’s face broke into a beatific smile. “Thank you,” he said. He leaned in toward Spock’s mouth.

Spock pulled back just a little. “Captain—Jim, if your Spock is recovered…?”

Jim’s face clouded. He inched his hand up Spock’s thigh and clutched firmly as if to verify the life before him. “When he is,” Jim corrected firmly.

Jim smiled so gently with just his eyes. “And when he is, I think you’re the one best suited to answer that.” Jim’s face resolved itself into an impish grin and, of all improbable things, he winked. “After all, what would you do in his position?”

Spock raised an eyebrow and Jim fell gratefully into the kiss. As their embrace deepened, several fine black hairs rained loosely down over the pillow.  
*****

In the Officers’ Mess, McCoy walked up behind their backs. “Nice bruise,” he commented with a nod to the deep bronze blotch on the side of Spock’s neck. He brushed a few stray hairs from the shoulder of Spock’s shirt and plopped his tray down on the table across from the pair.

McCoy picked up his biscuit and studied the bruise. “How’d you get a beauty like that?” he asked, with a pointed look.

Jim tried his best innocent look and tipped his coffee cup towards the doctor as he sipped, ignoring the question. “Morning, Bones.” He pushed his dirty breakfast tray aside.

“Not eating, Spock?” McCoy asked. Indeed, Spock’s plate remained conspicuously full of the colorful nutricubes he favored.

“I do not require nutrition at this time. In fact, I find the idea of food quite unappealing,” said Spock.

McCoy took a bite of his biscuit. “Anorexia? Don’t you think you should report symptoms like that?”

“I see no reason for you to pry into my biological functions, Doctor.”

Now that got McCoy’s attention. He dropped the biscuit and pulled out his portable mediscanner. He aimed it at Spock’s testes. “Well, Spock, since those ‘biological functions’ of yours damn near killed the captain last time, I would say I have a vested interest, wouldn’t you?”

Spock raised an eyebrow, but permitted the examination.

McCoy’s face clouded. He raised the scanner to Spock’s middle, then to the bruise on his neck, and finally to the scalp. “Oh, no,” he said staring into the screen.

“Bones?” Jim asked.

McCoy looked a little lost. “Spock, I don’t know how to tell you this, but your cellular mitotic rate is zero.”

An eyebrow shot up. “Fascinating,” Spock said. He extended a palm for the mediscanner. “It seems they must have used a forced-growth cloning technique. Interesting, but highly impractical for most purposes. This does narrow the field of possible goals for the substitution.”

McCoy surrendered the scanner. “Fascinating!” he echoed. “Is that all you have to say? Don’t you know what this means?”

Spock nodded. “Confirmed. Rate 0.0000.” Spock set the scanner down on the table.

“Well, I don’t know what any of that means,” Kirk said irritably. ” Somebody, tell me.”

McCoy tried to compose himself. “Jim, Spock’s cells—they aren’t dividing. They’re not able to reproduce.”

Jim relaxed visibly. “So he’s sterile. Well, Bones—”

Spock crossed his arms and turned Jim. “The finding is much more significant than that. Without cell division the body cannot repair or regenerate.”

“Like that big bruise from just—”

“Yes,” Spock interrupted, “but more than that, Captain. Under normal circumstances over a billion cells die every day and most of those must be replaced. In many organ systems such as the gastrointestinal tract, or the skin, cells live only a few days before being replaced with new ones. In other systems such as the blood or liver, cells may live for several weeks before being replaced. This cloned body is not able to create replacement cells. As the exhausted cells die off, these organs will die and the rest of the body will follow.”

“He’s dying?” Jim asked in an alarmingly normal voice.

McCoy answered, “Yes.”

The string of words ran through Jim’s brain like sands through an hourglass. Each little word meant nothing by itself, yet in the end they would heap together with terrible precision and absolute finality to change the course of his life, to stop the clock on the life of another. The effort it took to assimilate the meaning of these words was staggering. The blood rushed to his ears and his thoughts swirled madly around. He fought to pull one out, to focus.

“How long?” Jim asked in a voice that could barely contain such words.

“I don’t know,” McCoy said.

Spock said, “I anticipate catastrophic failure in 8.3 days, however serious debilitation and incapacity will occur long before that.”

McCoy shrugged helplessly.

“How can it be reversed?” asked Jim.

McCoy faltered. “Jim,—”

Spock said, “You misunderstand, Captain. This is not a disease. It is the normal outcome of the forced growth method of cloning. In this method a pleuripotential donor cell has the growth inhibitor sequences removed. It is then placed in a nutrient rich broth and the reaction catalyzed. The cloned body grows and develops at an exponentially accelerated rate. The process in then stopped with Cumaen radiation to halt development at the desired stage.”

“Cumaen radiation. But, we have an antidote for that, right Bones? The cellular division can be restarted.”

Bones said, “Jim, reversal would just restart the forced growth. The body would age and die within minutes, hours at most. “

Jim argued, “But we have samples of Spock’s original tissue. If the original donor cell came from him, we can see what is missing, what had been changed. We can replace those altered sequences, and the normal cell cycles can be restored.”

McCoy sighed. “Jim, you aren’t listening. For this body, this is the natural state. To do what you are suggesting would require individual microsurgery on hundreds of billions of cells. Even if it were possible, which I doubt, it would take months, and the body would be dead long before that.”

Spock interrupted. “Captain, the doctor is correct. If nothing else, the time factor makes this plan unfeasible. And I remind you that creating, abetting, or propagating cloned life is illegal and unethical under no less than twenty-three articles of the Federation. I submit that your motivation is personal and not professional.

“This body was illegally created, presumably without the consent of the donor and any attempt to prolong its existence is in violation of your oath and Federation laws as well as my own ethical code. I will not be a party to any such attempt.”

“I could order you,” Kirk countered.

“I have not enlisted in Starfleet and am not subject to your orders. I will not participate,” Spock said firmly.

McCoy spoke up. “Neither will I, Jim. It is against medical ethics, it’s wrong, and it’s not fair to Spock.”

Jim tensed his lips. His eyes flared bright and feral. “Spock may be dead already. I will not lose him again!”

McCoy’s eyes shone cornflower bright when he spoke. “I know that, Jim, and I am sorry. It’s terrible and it’s a tragedy, but doing the wrong thing now won’t correct anything that has already happened.” Neither man moved a muscle.

The yellow alert jarred them out of the deadlock. Uhura’s voice came over the speaker. “Bridge to captain.”

Jim rose to the wall unit. “Kirk here.”

“ETA to Drepalgus: Twenty-three minutes. Romulan warships identified in orbit. Cloaking device engaged. Mr. Scott requests Mr. Spock’s assistance in Engineering.”

Kirk glanced at Spock, but he was already halfway through the door.

“On our way. Kirk out.” He slapped the switch hard enough to startle the nearby table of astrography officers, and then he headed to the bridge.

McCoy stared helplessly at the place where they had once been.

*****

When McCoy reached the bridge, Kirk was already in the center seat with the crew buzzing busily around. Chekov was at Spock’s science station manning the scanner.

“Any response to our arrival, Mr. Chekov?” Kirk asked.

“None, Sir. We appear to be inwisible.”

“Standard orbit, Mr. Sulu, but stay out of the path of those warbirds.”

“Aye, Sir.”

“Begin scans for vulcanoid lifeforms.”

“Multiple areas of concentration. They appear to be Romulan. Modifying scans for Mr. Spock’s specific signs, but it may take some time,” said Chekov.

“Mr. Chekov, we are on a covert extraction mission under cover of an experimental cloak and surrounded by enemy warships. Time is a luxury we do not have so—”

“Got him, Sir!” shouted Chekov.

“Well done. How many are there?”

“How many…Mr. Spocks, Sir?” Chekov asked, befuddled.

“Yes, exactly.”

Dutifully, Chekov rescanned. “Only one, Sir. No other matching lifesigns.”

“Very good. Now what can you tell us about where he is being held?”

Chekov consulted the instruments. “A large compound: 347 Romulans within it. Two appear to be in the same room as Mr. Spock. Spock is not moving at all.”

“Dead?”

“No, Keptin. Vital signs are strong.” Kirk relaxed visibly into his chair.

Chekov twirled a dial and continued, “Just not moving.”

“Probably a mindblank body,” McCoy mused.

“I don’t know, Sir. The reading is strange—strong vital signs but, slow or blunted—I don’t know. It is something I have never seen before.”

“Probably the absence of cellular division,” McCoy mused aloud.

Kirk rubbed his chin. “Kirk to Engineering.”

“Engineering, Scott here.”

“Scotty, I need Mr. Spock on the bridge.”

“On my way, Captain,” Spock’s voice said over the comm.

In less than a minute Spock was on the bridge. In perfect choreography, he reclaimed the science station just as Chekov slid back behind the navigation console.

Spock twisted a dial and looked up from the scanner to find Kirk staring at his back. “Interesting,” he said.

“Situation, Spock. Specifically, what can you tell us about the clone?”

“Fascinating.”

Kirk sighed. His Spock to a T. “More specifically, Spock?”

Spock swiveled and regarded the Captain. “For one thing, it is not a clone; it is the natural born Spock.”

“Are you sure?” Kirk leapt from his chair.

“Quite sure, Captain. The subject is heavily drugged, which explains Mr. Chekov’s aberrant readings, but cellular mitosis is progressing.”

Kirk grinned from ear-to-ear. “Not logical, huh. Spock? Life and death seldom ever are. But he’s alive!”

Spock looked mildly chagrined. “It is in fact, quite logical, Jim. When we discovered the cloning method being used, I should have reassessed the probabilities and informed you of the changed premise. Due to extremely rapid aging of a forced-growth clone, the original donor must be kept. The static cells are cannot be reproduced, and the active cells age and decay to rapidly for processing. My oversight, Captain.”

“It’s all right. You may have had other things on your mind,” Kirk offered quietly.

Spock tilted his head. “I hardly think so, Sir.” He changed his tone. “In any event, the compound has defensive shielding and aggressive surface munitions in addition to the space defense fleet, which we see here, but oddly, no transporter deflectors. It should be possible to simply transport your officer out of hold and directly to the ship.”

“But we will have to drop the cloak. In the time it takes us to raise shields they can easily destroy us,” Jim argued.

Spock considered. “The Romulans, while aggressive and ruthless, are not rash. They will generally study a situation and not attack until they are clear as to the other party’s capacity and intentions.”

“Our intentions will be clear enough when Spock vanishes before their eyes,” Jim said.

“Agreed. Therefore we must delay their realization for fifteen seconds. I must be transported in his place. Simultaneous transporter exchange, may be somewhat risky, but our options are very limited in this scenario.”

Jim left his seat and leaned his hands on the rail by the science console. His whole mind rebelled instinctively at just the suggestion. He forced the brunt of the reaction down with effort. “Somewhat risky? Spock, as soon as the exchange is discovered you’ll be killed! I won’t let you go any more than I would him!”

Spock’s face was utterly placid yet his face was open and unmasked. “Captain, should I live, in 2.8 days my upper intestinal lining will be gone. The underlying tissue will have no protection from the gastric acid and my body will begin to dissolve from inside out. In 4.6 days my skin will begin to slough leaving exposed, raw flesh. Nonetheless, nervous system cells are long-lived and will not be affected. I shall feel all of this.”

Jim’s mouth twitched and his eyes narrowed painfully. “You wouldn’t just be saying this to convince me to change my mind?”

“Vulcans are incapable of lying, Captain.”

“Yes, of course they are.” Jim found a small smile somewhere and summoned himself. “Okay—”

“Jim,” McCoy blustered, “you can’t do that! Have you lost your mind? Have you ever thought that this could have been their plan all along? They plant a spy and you cheerfully hand-deliver him right back to the enemy with all of the amassed information.”

Spock spoke. “Captain, much to my dismay, I find that I am in complete agreement with Dr. McCoy. I must not be taken alive by the Romulans. I have far too much information already.”

“You aren’t making sense. They have the original Spock. Why not just interrogate him?” Jim clipped.

Spock shook his head. “Mind stripping devices are ineffectual against Vulcans, Captain. They will not be able to obtain information from the original, nor would they be able to from any engramatic copy impressed upon a cloned brain. However, it is possible that the cloners could have constructed a new neural matrix to allow them to download any new information processed by such a brain. In fact, this is one of the few hypotheses that would explain this elaborate ruse.”

Spock turned to McCoy. “Doctor, are you able to provide a drug which will kill this body within one minute?”

McCoy hurried over to join the huddle. “Now wait just a damned minute! Spock, you’re asking me to kill you!”

“No, Doctor, I am not. For one, I am not Spock. Second, I am requesting your assistance in the euthanasia of a patient facing imminent and agonizing death. Third, I am hopeful that you would wish to assist in the retrieval of your friend.”

McCoy’s eye’s blazed hot. “I will not take life, not for any reason!”

Jim broke in. “Lieutenant Commander McCoy, you will do so if I order it!”

“Jim, you can’t—”

“Enough!” Jim barked. “Dammit Bones, he’s right and you know it. You said as much yourself. It is better for him and it’s our best hope to get Spock back. “

McCoy’s voice was tight and shook with the effort at control. “This is not the same. What we discussed before is doing our jobs with an understanding of the risk of pain and loss that must sometimes entail. Now you’re ordering me to commit murder. That is not my job; that is directly contrary to my medical oath and I resist that order, Captain.”

Kirk answered, “So noted. But you’ve also sworn to follow my orders and that means killing if and whenever so ordered. That is your job, doctor so accept the pain and go do it like the rest of us. Meet us in the transporter room in fifteen minutes with the poison.”

McCoy bit his tongue and stormed off of the bridge.

Jim took a breath and faced the science station, radiation more resolve than he felt. “Mr. Spock tell the transporter room to prepare for simultaneous exchange transport.”

Jim came around the railing and draped his arm over Spock’s shoulder. Several more hairs fell off onto his sleeve. “Spock, are you sure this will work?”

“Nothing is certain, Captain, but I estimate a greater than 92% probability of success. That estimate is however assuming the continued cooperation of Dr. McCoy, and as usual, I find myself unable to predict his behavior based on the principles of logic.”

Jim’s snorted softly. “No doubt. He’ll do what I ask. He always has.

“What about the transporter effects? If Spock is being watched, the guards will see the light.”

Spock said, “Probably, Captain, but as a body will remain, I predict that the confusion will grant enough time to delay the alarm and allow the escape of _Enterprise_.”

“And you, Spock? Are you all right with this?”

“It is logical, Captain.”

“That is not what I asked,” Jim parried.

Spock furrowed his brow. “Captain, we all have our destinies. Mine clearly does not lie upon the same path as does yours. With luck, your Vulcan’s will. And if the sum of my existence is to restore him on that path, then I find the time that I have lived to be satisfactory. “

“I thought Vulcans didn’t believe in luck,” Jim said. His voice was thick and low.

“To all things there are exceptions, Captain. And if there is an element of fortune that allowed my path to intersect with yours, then I welcome it.”

Jim squeezed Spock’s shoulder once, hard, and then let go. He turned away.

Kirk’s voice was full and confident when he spoke again for the crew. “Uhura, when the cloak drops, hail planetary reception and those warships. Make it sound neutral but garbled—confuse them. We only need a few seconds.

“Mr. Sulu, we will be in the transporter room. Stand by for impulse evasive maneuvers. Stay in transporter range until you get our signal, then go to maximum warp. Raise cloak as soon as it recycles.

“Come on, Spock, let’s go.”

They walked into the turbolift. Spock took the handle. “Transporter room,” Spock said. Jim grabbed him by the shoulders and spun him around. Spock’s hand fell from the handle. He made no effort to replace it.

Jim found himself at a loss for words. So many thoughts flashed through his head that had they another five-year mission, it would not leave time enough to express them all. There was so much that needed to be said, but none of it could encompass what he really meant. “Spock—” Jim faltered.

Spock’s face was transcendentally composed. He tilted his head slightly to study Jim’s face, as though the memory would have to last for a lifetime. Purposefully, he took his thumb and brushed the ever-errant lock of hair from Jim’s forehead. He opened his mouth, as if to speak, but no words came forth. He swallowed and tried again. “Understood, Jim,” was all he said.

Spock leaned down to kiss the full lips, but Jim moved first. He pushed him up against the lift wall and threw his body full against him. He grabbed Spock’s head and pulled him down to meet his lips, hard.

Spock’s lip split open against his teeth. Together they tasted the sour sting of copper of blood. With his tongue Jim forced Spock’s lips farther apart and thrust into the depths of Spock’s mouth.

Jim felt the rough scrape of tongue against teeth. The blood trickled to the bad of his throat, almost making him gag, but he did not have time to care. He sucked roughly, pulling Spock’s tongue deeper within him. He licked urgently at the blood, hungry for more, greedy for anything of this Spock he could keep within him forever.

Spock reached around and hugged Jim convulsively to himself. Jim struggled for breath, but found his chest crushed flat by Spock’s unyielding hold. A single sick moment of doubt flashed through his mind. Choking, he twisted and turned futilely in the attempt to break away.

Then Spock released his hold and they fell apart. The blood continued to run from Spock’s bottom lip. He licked as much away as possible and put a finger over the crack to staunch the flow.

Jim caught his breath and stared at the clone watching the lifeblood seep from the crack of his skin. For possibly the first time he realized, really realized the whole truth. For all of his power and experience and clever trickery, he could not stop this death. Even now he was watching it progress before his eyes. It was all but over. So very little remained to be done. “Damn it,” he said too quietly.

With a sudden violent move, he turned his back on the clone. He drew back and slammed his fist into the wall. The turbolift shuddered once and was still.

Spock reached out and rested a hand on Jim’s shoulder, willing him the courage of his own convictions. It was all that he could do. Dying mattered little; it was but the logical end of life. But this man must be all right. To leave him to alone with unresolved grief and pain, that would be his only regret.

Jim squared himself under the grip. The fine muscles relaxed under the shirt, and Jim turned back around.

His face was unreadable. “So, I guess this is goodbye.”

Spock raised a hand and made the Vulcan salute. A small olive fissure formed in the skin between the third and forth digits. “Live long and prosper, Captain Kirk.”

Jim looked from the hand to the face he had loved for so many years. A thin trail of blood still ran from lip to collar. A cold shiver ran through him as Jim grabbed the turbolift handle and turned to face the door.

*****

McCoy was waiting in the transporter room when they entered. A medkit hung at his hip. Scotty and three technicians fidgeted fussily with the transporter controls.

Spock still held a finger against his lower lip where a smear of green blood was beginning to dry.

“Bones, can you seal that?” Jim asked with a nod to Spock’s face.

McCoy’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “Oh, good idea, Captain. He’ll have to look good if you want an open casket.”

Jim gave him a dangerous look. “We need to convince the Romulans that this is the original for fifteen seconds or we’re all dead. Now do your job, doctor.”

Without a word, McCoy took a dermoplaser form his kit and ran it over the fissure. A thin film formed over the top. The blood dissipated as if it had never been.

“Thank you, Doctor,” Spock said formally.

“Don’t thank me Spock, I just—”

“No.” Spock grabbed a hold of his arm. He locked their eyes together. His voice was low, and so intense. “I mean, thank you, Doctor, and goodbye.”

McCoy yanked his arm away violently. He turned to the wall and went to restow the dermoplaser. He fumbled, unable to work the with the kit flap and finally rammed the device deep into his pocket.

Spock stepped up to the transporter platform. “Ready, engineer?”

Scotty looked up and pulled himself to attention. “Ready. And I would like to say, it has been a privilege to work with you, Sir.”

Spock inclined an eyebrow. “Likewise, Mr. Scott.”

Jim took a breath. “Doctor McCoy?”

McCoy turned around, his face now perfectly flat. “Yes, Captain?”

“You have the drug?”

“Yes.”

“What is the onset time, Doctor?” Spock asked coolly.

“Thirty seconds or so,” McCoy responded. His voice was as dull as Jim has ever heard it.

“Excellent,” Spock said. “Then it would appear that all is in order, Captain.”

Jim looked around. Every eye in the room was on him. He sucked in his breath and moved up to stand beside Spock’s disc on the platform. “Dr. McCoy, please administer the poison.”

Moving as smoothly as if in a dream, McCoy drew the hypo from his kit. He stepped up to Spock’s side and raised it to his arm.

“NO!” Jim shouted suddenly. He grabbed McCoy’s hand and stayed it on the hypo.

McCoy went limp within his grip. “Thank god,” he mumbled.

Spock said, “Captain, your First Officer awaits rescue. You cannot—”

“No,” Jim repeated. “You were right. It isn’t your job, Bones, it’s mine. Step back.”

Bones looked confused. “Jim, you—”

“Step back, doctor,” Jim barked. Reflexively McCoy took a step back. Jim put one hand on Spock’s shoulder and steadied the hypo against his arm with the other. His face spoke of sadness but it bore no trace of the hard lines of conflict that had resided there since the discovery.

“Ready, Mr. Spock?” Jim’s voice was low and intimate, as if there were no one else in the room.

“Quite ready, Captain.” The expected reply rang out loud and clear.

“Thank you, Jim,” Spock added too quietly for any one else to hear. Then he smiled just a little.

Jim pressed the plunger home.

“Energize,” Jim commanded. The body beneath his hands began to flicker out in a yellow hum. Jim clutched at the space where the clone had been, then he felt another body flush and firm again. Spock’s unconscious form lay heavy in his arms, the undamaged face rested limply against his chest. The transporter ceased.

Scott’s voice broke in. “Bi-directional transport complete. Signaling the bridge now.”

Jim sank to his knees with Spock in his arms. 


End file.
